


Safe Harbour

by Blarghal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Trauma, Trilla Suduri | Second Sister Lives, Trilla Suduri | Second Sister Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blarghal/pseuds/Blarghal
Summary: A series of scenes centering on Cal Kestis and Trilla Suduri's relationship.  No particular time frame, no particular order.Edit:  I have since learned that I have tomanually add italics.  So I've done that.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Kudos: 45





	1. Safe Harbour

Trilla Suduri started awake, her eyes snapping open in an instant. She scanned her surroundings for some hint of familiarity she could use to orient herself, but found nothing.

_Where the hell was she?_

The distant unease that had been growing in her stomach began the subtle shift towards true fear as her eyes continued their search in a vain hope for anything familiar. Her breath sounded harshly in her ears, which didn’t bode well at all, but it was rapidly being drowned out by the pounding of the blood running through her veins.

_Alright, what the fuck was going on?_

Her thoughts, already dangerously jumbled and opaque, now threatened to vanish entirely. A scream was slowly building in her throat, yet she could not find the air to let it out. She couldn’t find any air at all, in fact. She couldn’t hear her breathing anymore, not over the pounding in her head and her own internal screaming, and a distant, detached part of her mind wondered idly if she were actually breathing at all anymore.

She tried to reorient her thoughts, to cast her mind back to any memory of _where_ she was and _why_ she was here and _what_ was going on, but her thoughts were slow and panic was rapidly outpacing everything else. 

She was drowning. She was alone and she was drowning and there was nothing to grab onto and no one there to help her, no one there to save her, no life line- 

She needed to step back. To take a breath. If she could just get some air in her lungs she-

_Where-_

_How did I-_

_Why can’t I remem-_

_Missing someth-_

_What am I-_

_I need hel-_

A new sensation intruded on her disoriented psyche. The feeling of a hand gently enclosing her own trembling fist ( _when had she clenched her hand into a fist?_ ), and rubbing softly over her knuckles. _A lifeline_. The hand slowly managed to coax her fist open, highlighting just how stiff her knuckles had become in the process, as well as the blood dribbling out of the small cuts in her palm left by her nails. The tender caresses never ceased, and in fact spread out to include her bloodied palm and fingers.

That detached and cognizant part of her mind still running in the background noted that her breathing began to slow. _How nice_ , her mind whispered drolly.

Gradually, she became aware of an almost imperceptible voice, as though it were being shouted from a long way off. She couldn’t quite make out any of the words, the thrumming in her head still rather overpowering despite tapering off some, but she could almost _feel_ the soothing calm that it carried. She allowed her disordered thoughts a moment to coalesce, _really, it was the least she could do for herself, all things considered_ , before turning her attention back to the voice. This time, she was able to parse out the words.

“Shhh….. it’s okay, Trilla. I’m here…. You’re safe now…”

As the words and their meaning registered, she became aware of a steady, pulsing wave of comfort that had been doggedly trying to get her attention since the moment she had so abruptly awoken. Belatedly, she realized those reassuring waves coincided with each soft hush, creating a nice soothing effect not unlike a warm blanket on a cold night. _A safe harbour in a storm._

Her breathing had nearly returned to normal by the time she opened her eyes ( _when had she closed them? She couldn’t recall_ ), and looked down at the hand still holding her own. She recognized that calloused, rough, yet infinitely gentle, hand as it slowly massaged the still stiff muscles of her palm. She took in a shuddering breath.

“Kest- …. _Cal..?_ ”

Her voice sounded hoarse and timid even to her _own_ ears and she mentally flinched at such weakness being exposed.

“In the flesh.” That whisper, so close to her ears, cut off her train of thought. “I’m here, Trilla. I’ve got you. Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

As he spoke he wrapped his arms loosely around her while softly brushing against her mind with that same lulling wave of warm calm. _A loose enough hold to break away_ , that strikingly resilient part of her mind whispered, but even that part of her recognized there was nowhere in the galaxy she would have rather been in that moment. _Wrapped in his arms, anchored to his warmth_. 

“Cal… I’m sor-”

“You don’t need to explain. It’s okay, just breathe.”

Having effectively cut off her attempted apology he wrapped more of his tender presence around her and left her to choose what to do. She elected to bask in its bright warmth. Despite being slightly taller than him, she slid backward against his body and burrowed deeply into his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her own. She felt his lips press gently against the back of her head and felt warmth flooding into her stomach. Coupled with that feeling, however, was absolute, bloody exhaustion. She yawned, and contrived to somehow burrow herself even deeper into his arms. All was quiet for a few moments, and her breathing finally slowed to match his.

“Thank you.” she whispered.

Her voice was small, but felt like it carried to the stars in the silence. She could feel his smile against the back of her head as he whispered his reply. His exact words didn’t matter. As she drifted off back to sleep, she could feel the warm sun of his love for her shining down, _her safe harbour in any storm_. And she was sure he could feel the exact same thing from her.


	2. A Comfortable Burden

Trilla Suduri is awake, but she is not happy about it. She can _feel_ the eyes on her. Cere is somewhere nearby. And the nightsister, Merrin. Even the Latero, Greez, is floating near enough that she i>swear he was within smacking range. And yet, every time she casts her gaze about the room she’s met with empty stillness. She heaves a sigh. 

_How the hell did she get herself into this one?_

_It was all that bloody nightsister’s fault._

_And that damned droid._

She sighs again, _better than growling_ , she guesses, and looks down at her current burden. He is snoring. Granted, he is snoring _softly_ , and it _is_ awfully endearing, but still. He is _snoring_. i>top of her. His head is resting comfortably, _for him at least_ , on her chest as he snores at her. _The nerve_. 

_Fine, he probably wasn’t snoring **at** her_. 

She surreptitiously cast a glance around the room again. It certainly _seemed_ like she was alone…. 

She turns her attention back to the sleeping oaf keeping her trapped on the couch. She hadn’t intended to be locked onto this couch the whole day. Really, she hadn’t intended to be on this couch at all, but she just couldn’t sit alone while _that_ was going on. 

She glares at him. Really hard. One of her better glares, if she’s being perfectly honest. He snores back, oblivious to her imperious stare. A third sigh finds its way past her lips, _she was doing that an awful lot these days_ , and glances around one last time. She brings her hand up to run through his shockingly bright, shockingly soft hair. _Honestly, did it need to be **that** vibrant? She would almost be convinced he did it on purpose somehow if he weren’t so childishly earnest in all his dealings_. For his part, Cal Kestis lets out a pleased sounding hum and snuggles a little closer to her. 

Her glare vanishes in an instant, tension fading from her eyes as her lips curl up in a small smile. She cranes her neck forward to place a soft kiss on his head and then reclines back against the couch. Belatedly she realizes she has wrapped her other arm around him and he has, still sleeping, grabbed her hand in his. She smiles to herself again and closes her eyes. 

And then she remembers what had drawn her from her solitude in the first place. She frowns at the thought of Kestis’ laughter, mingling with that of the _witch’s_ , floating out from the central living space in the _Stinger Mantis_. She’d been minding her own business in her room. Really, it was Kestis’ room that she had inserted herself into, but the crew of the _Mantis_ seemed to have learned some modicum of decorum and had made no mention of it. At least, no mention of it to _her_. 

She bites back on another sigh, _honestly, she wasn’t some Coruscanti debutante in a holorama_ , and turns her eyes on the big lug anchoring her to the couch. She can still hear their laughter as it carried through the halls to Kestis’ room. She’d been reading a datapad on his bed as it floated into the room. She couldn’t hear their words, but their mirth was clear enough. She had been trying, _and succeeding, thank you very much_ , to put it out of her mind. Kestis was free to associate with whomever he chose. Just because the pale, beautiful witch was the current subject of his attention didn’t matter to _her_. Not at all. Not one whit. She was totally fine with that. And so she kept reading her datapad. 

_Until that blasted droid showed up._

_And looked at her like that._

_As if to say “Why are you in here when Cal_Kestis is out there?”_

And so she had groaned, _growled, really, let’s be honest now_ , and stalked out to the living room to find them sitting on opposite ends of the couch, chatting amiably. They looked up at her as she entered and Kestis smiled at her. That damnably _charming_ smile of his that made her heart flutter and-

She tamped down that feeling as she took her seat in the corner of the couch and resumed her reading. She paid absolutely no attention to their conversation whatsoever, and eventually their voices drifted into the background, a distant hum. It was a comfortable, almost pleasing buzz at the edge of her perception and soon enough she found herself lost entirely in her datapad. So much so that she barely registered Merrin’s departure, nor Kesis sidling up to her on the couch. She really must have been out of it, or maybe _he’d_ done something to relax the atmosphere, because before she was aware of anything having changed she was lying down against the cushions with Kestis in her lap, her datapad forgotten on the couch next to her. Her eyes were closed and there was a contented smile playing at her lips while she casually stroked his hair with her left hand. 

And just like that, wrapped in and literally underneath the warmth of his presence, both physically and in the Force, she was asleep. She had no idea how long she was asleep for, but she knows that it was peaceful in a way her sleep usually wasn’t. Her mind was distantly aware of Cal, as that part of her always thought of him, also dozing contentedly in her arms. She was blissfully lost in the cozy cocoon Cal had snuck her into. And she would have remained that way had she not sensed flickers of amusement from some intruding third party. She knew she was safe, so she, rather uncharacteristically, chose to ignore it at first. Let whoever it was chuckle, she had everything she could ever want within her arms in that moment. But then the presence turned into _presences_ , and the mirth she felt increased in kind. _That_ she would _not_ stand for. Capricious? Perhaps, but she still had _some_ pride left, no? _Not when it comes to Cal_ , whispered that traitorously unconcerned part of her. 

Still, she slowly dragged her mind back to consciousness. Her spectators must have been aware of the shift, as when she opened her eyes she was alone with Kestis on the couch. 

_Ah. So that’s how she’d gotten here_. 

Another sigh slips out before she can wrangle it back in and that inner voice chortles at her. She has half a mind to _strangle_ that half of her mind. And she would, too, but for the fact that she can’t quite figure out how to manage it. Before she sighs, _yet again_ , she turns her attention back to the slightly-shorter-than-her-but-still-big-lug keeping her trapped. She feels her eyes soften, even as that rebellious inner voice _laughs_ at her, and this time she can’t find it in her to care. Craning her neck once more, she places another kiss on his ridiculous hair and whispers those words that she keeps hidden from the entire galaxy save for him, and even then, only when in their most private sanctuary. She uses a touch of the Force to bring a cozy blanket over to her and drape it over them both. Then she wraps her arms around him once more, squeezing him just a little tighter than before, and, leaning her head back again, closes her eyes. This time, as sleep comes for her again, she decides that she doesn’t care what the rest of the crew of the _Mantis_ thinks. She has earned the right to enjoy this moment and she is damn well going to take it. 

BD-1 waits silently in the corner of the living room until Trilla_Suduri and Cal_Kestis, _mostly Trilla_Suduri, though_ , is sleeping. Once this is considered true with an accuracy of 99.73%, BD-1 quietly hops up onto the caff table and takes an assortment holos before rapidly retreating to the safety of parts of the ship too small for Trilla_Suduri to fit into.


	3. The First Break In The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was initially supposed to be a collection of the first three times Cal touched Trilla in a non-murdery way, but then the first part grew larger than I had anticipated. So there will be at least another one of these, probably another two. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :D

The first time he touches her, Trilla is attempting to strangle him to death. 

She has tracked him to some lost Jedi Temple on some nameless Outer Rim Moon. He is, as per usual, trying to track down an artifact or something, doggedly following that _fool_ Cordova’s obscure trail of breadcrumbs. She is content, for the moment, to let him do all the heavy lifting. She rather enjoys watching his progress from a distance. It’s amusing to see him scrambling up walls and leaping over crevasses, all with his faithful, little droid perched on his shoulder. 

_He’s getting better_ , she notes. _More confident in his movements. Graceful, even._ She shakes her head at the thought. _Idle observations,_ of course, _nothing more._

She pays no attention to the distant, but growing, voice in her mind that calls her _a liar_. 

Shaking herself free from these frankly _ridiculous_ distractions she finds her quarry kneeling in front of his robotic companion. It takes an uncharacteristic moment for her to realize that he must be watching one of those pre-recorded holo messages left by Cordova. He looks so _content_ here, in this cavernous ruin on this wayward rock in the middle of nowhere. She is struck, at times, at the simple joy he can find in such places. Her lips unconsciously curl into something like a smile before she remembers why she’s there. She shakes her head perhaps a little more forcefully than is warranted, trying to reorient her mind to the task at hand. Focusing her eyes on her prey once more a thought strikes her and she smirks. 

_It would be an_ **_awful_ ** _shame, indeed, if someone were to interrupt this cozy little moment_. 

She nearly chuckles at the perceptible _jump_ that the snap-hiss of her lightsaber causes. For all that Kestis has improved, he is _still_ so _skittish_ . It’s almost _cute_ , really. Still, she has a job to do. She brings her saber up into a guard position and he doesn’t fail to respond in kind. Their fight, if it can even be _called_ that, proceeds predictably enough from there. For all his improvement and even his not insignificant raw talent, he is still inexperienced, his technique unpolished. His swings are just a _touch_ too wide, the parries a _hair_ too slow. 

Soon enough he is backing away from her as is the case with most of these encounters. If she pushes him a _tad_ harder than she ordinarily would, well, she’s feeling a tad _irked_ at those errant thoughts at the edge of her mind. So what if she takes her frustrations out on him? She taunts him, like she always does. The smirk playing at her lips is no more or less cruel than it usually is, even in her words a touch _harsher_ than usual. Besides, it’s not like she actually _cares_ about hurting his feelings. It’s not like it’s any worse than what she’s trying to do with her _lightsaber_ , after all. 

She thinks that this time, perhaps, she _may_ have pushed a _touch_ too far. The hint comes in the form of his silence, of all things. She certainly hadn’t been expecting him to clam up like this. He’s always given as good as he got _before_ , and she can’t imagine that her words are _really_ enough to dull that _sharp tongue_ of his. Kestis is usually so _brazen_ in their little quarrels, so _boisterous_ and _irreverent_ . Nevertheless, she’s _pretty damn sure_ she’s touched a nerve. It’s slightly off putting, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. 

Even _more_ off putting than the silence, though, is the look in his eyes. She can’t quite place it, but it’s beginning to _gnaw_ at her. It’s eating at some indefinable part of her core, and she _can’t figure out why_ . She’s frustrated, now. Really, she’s _more_ than frustrated. She’s inching towards full-blown _anger_ at this point, though she still isn’t quite sure _why_. That, almost more than anything, seems to be driving her increasing agitation. 

Her agitation is finding an outlet in the form of increasing vitriol and violence directed at Cal Kestis. Her attacks are growing more vicious, the force of each swing vibrating through even her own hands. Their fight began in a large atrium, typical of Jedi design. But they have been moving further and further away from that open space, down darkened and long forgotten corridors, past countless nooks and alcoves and side rooms. This constant scrambling is only adding fuel to her burning fury. She throws a heavy blow at his left shoulder forcing him to dive to his right in order to avoid being cut in half. It also forces him down a smaller hallway than the one they were in moments before. 

He is backpedaling now, completely on the defensive and unable to stop her tireless advance. He has to duck into another corridor off to his left this time, and then dive into what turns out to be a small reading room to avoid being decapitated. She takes a grim sort of satisfaction in his harried and desperate moves. His _ridiculous_ poncho is torn, as are his gloves, from trips and falls he has sustained while trying to avoid her blade. His hands, rough from his time as a scrapper, no doubt, are not bleeding _yet_ , but it’s only a matter of time given his uncoordinated flailing. 

He was never a match for her skill, and this display of his _weakness_ is a balm to her still smouldering fury. Or it _should_ be, at least. In actuality despite his clear inability to withstand her ferocious assault, Kestis is _still_ looking at her with that same indefinable quality. If she didn’t know any better she would almost think it was something akin to... _pity_. 

That thought stops her dead in her tracks. Her lightsaber dips a fraction as her mind plays the preceding moments back for her in exquisite detail. Every jab she has made at his expense, every retort he has made, every attack and parry and dodge. Right up until he stopped speaking. She barely notices her lightsaber having dropped to her side as she focuses on the change in his face she had witnessed. The softening of his eyes. The subtle parting of his lips, as if he wants to object but can’t quite figure out how. The way the corners of his mouth turn down into a frown a moment later. Not the flat line of grim determination that she’s seen on countless other fools in her way, but rather the disheartened, sullen look of someone in mourning. 

His voice, practically a whisper, still shocks her like a blaster bolt in the sudden stillness. 

“I understand you, you know. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I know the feeling. I know what it’s like to _fail_.” 

She flinches at the word, said with such _kindness_ and _compassion_ and _understanding_ . Her previously faltering anger _blazes to life_. 

_He knows what it’s like to_ **_fail_ ** _? Does she really_ **_look_ ** _like she’s_ **_failed_ ** _?_ **_He’s_ ** _the one_ **_cornered_ ** _._ **_He’s_ ** _the one on his last leg,_ **_clinging desperately_ ** _to a_ **_lost cause_ ** _and a_ **_failed institution_ ** _._

She isn’t quite sure when she drops her lightsaber, the rattling of the hilt as it tumbles to the ground barely heard over the rushing of blood through her veins. Her hands seem to move of their own accord, they must, since she can barely think through the _incandescent rage_. 

Kestis is thrown violently to the wall behind him. His hands immediately fly to his throat in a vain attempt to relieve the crushing pressure cutting the flow of air to his lungs. His eyes widen in shock and some part of her mind is _viciously pleased_ at the look of _fear_ in them. She hasn’t put enough pressure on his throat to _kill_ him yet, but he is most assuredly _distressed_ . A different part of her notes that the look of sadness, however, seems to have _deepened_ rather than disappear as she’d hoped. 

She finds herself walking over to him, following her outstretched arm as if drawn by a magnet, her lightsaber left forgotten on the floor. She comes to a stop directly in front of him, his eyes tilted up to meet hers. She cocks her head to one side as she watches him struggle. His fear, it seems, has gone, replaced by a mixture of that _pity_ from before and a new measure of _determination_. 

“It’s…. not too late…. Trilla.” His words are forced out in spite of his body’s more pressing need of the breath he’s so foolishly wasting. “You don’t…. have to be…. what they…. want you to….” 

He coughs as he tries to draw in another breath. It is clearly taking a great deal of effort on his part just to stay conscious, and yet he is persisting with this misguided attempt at conversion. She must admit she is somewhat impressed at his perseverance. 

“Let go….. come with…. me….. Let me…. help…. You….” 

His voice draws her out of her momentary distraction. And, unfortunately for him, stokes the ire in her heart once more. 

**_Help_ ** _her? She doesn’t_ **_need_ ** _help, and certainly not from some_ **_pathetic_ ** _,_ **_failed padawan_ ** _out of his depth._

Her hand closes physically around his throat and she lifts him off the ground. She is practically _growling_ as her eyes bore into his. She pays no attention to his left hand scrabbling at her leather clad arm. She has no patience for any more _distractions_ like this _whelp_ . She is going to end this _now_ , she is going to watch the life drain from his eyes and _then_ he’ll understand just how much his _help_ is _really_ worth. 

She is so blindingly furious with him for his ridiculous suggestion that she barely notices his right hand reaching down the length of her arm. He is trying, it seems, to break her hold on his neck. At least, that’s what she thinks he’s doing right up until his fingers brush across her cheek. 

Having found what he’s been looking for he, surprisingly gently, given the situation, cups her cheek. With the same intensity that she has been glaring at him, he looks into her eyes. She can _almost hear_ his words ringing in her ears. The universe itself seems to still in that moment as he looks _through_ her. Reflected in his eyes she is _laid bare_ . She imagines he can see every _crack_ in her armor, all the _violence_ in her heart, every _offence_ she has ever committed, every _insecurity_ , every _fear_ , every _failure_. 

And the strangest part of all of it is… he doesn’t seem to _care_ . In his eyes she sees _none_ of the recrimination, the _condemnation_ , she expects to see. That _she_ still sees when she looks in the mirror. Instead she finds an acknowledgment, and a quiet acceptance. _You have made mistakes_ , she hears his voice saying, _you have hurt people, but_ **_you_ ** _are hurting, too_ . _It’s never too late to start all over again._

The universe, still frozen, balances on a knife’s edge. 

The sound of _that damned droid_ , which she hadn’t noticed had disappeared, shatters the stillness, and she throws him **through** the wall before she realizes what’s she’s done. Her mind is hazy, her reactions sluggish, and by the time she recognizes what’s happened Kestis is already fleeing the temple. He is _startlingly strong_ , she thinks, to have been able to get away so quickly after having been thrown through a wall like that. 

She shakes her head in an attempt to clear the remnants of his voice from her mind, and turns back to pick up her abandoned lightsaber. She fastens it to her belt and turns to leave the temple as well. She’s in no hurry, she can feel his presence is already long gone and she has no doubt she will be able to track him down again. As she is leaving the room something catches her eye. It’s a decorative plate on one of the walls, polished to a mirror shine. She watches as her hand comes up to touch her left cheek. She can still _feel_ his rough fingers as they rest softly against her skin….


	4. A Glimpse Of Clear Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second time Cal touches Trilla in a non-murdery way. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy it :D

The second time Cal Kestis touches her she is confused. She is also falling to her death. 

As is common for their game, she has tracked her precious prize to yet another backwater ball of dirt in the Outer Rim. Granted, this particular dirtball is more craggy rock and unforgiving mountain, but _still_ . “Dirtball” conveys her feelings on the matter more accurately than anything else she can be bothered to think of at the moment. _Stupid_ dirtball at that. 

This moment consists of a painstakingly slow climb up the side of an obnoxiously tall plateau. In the middle of a _storm_. At the barely visible summit, per Kestis’ _ridiculous_ obsession, _yet another temple._ Abandoned, of course. Decrepit and crumbling, most likely. Resting place of some secret, ancient “Jedi Wisdom”, however? Given the track record of these ventures, she sincerely doubts it. 

Unfortunately for her, her quarry is seemingly _determined_ to explore every collapsing remnant of that failed order. 

She doesn’t _grumble_ , of course. That would be _beneath_ her. She _grouses_ , perhaps. Just a touch of light protest at the indignity of having to scramble up a sheer cliff side in the freezing cold and pouring rain like some unseemly _scrapper_. _Damned scrapper._ He, of course, made this same climb. He would have had to in order to claim his nonexistent prize at the top. It was likely nothing for _him_ to make this climb, having spent years crawling all over those decrepit war time relics on Bracca. That planet was no stranger to whipping winds and lashing rains. _His_ hands were already accustomed to the rough treatment such a climb entails. She knows firsthand the rough texture of his palm when he-

She sighs. 

No sense in dwelling on that when she can focus her efforts on finishing this miserable ascent and get to the _real_ fun of her mission. She can almost picture the look on his face, blinking through the heavy drops threatening to blind her, when he spots here behind him… that widening of his eyes… the subtle parting of his lips… the _tension_ that runs through his _whole body_....

She sighs again, turning her attention back to her climb. _Soon, Cal Kestis._

Her first thought on reaching the top of the cliff is uncharacteristic relief. She is by no means weak, she _is_ the Second Sister, after all, but the climb was long and she is unaccustomed to such extended exertions. _Especially_ when her uniform is weighed down with extra mass from _an entire ocean’s worth of rainfall_. And that’s saying nothing of the havoc it has wreaked on her gloves. The soft leather wasn’t intended for the jagged cliff face. 

Her second though is pure, unadulterated _exasperation_. Of _course_ , this blasted temple wouldn’t just _be there_. _Naturally_ , she would now have to cross a _deteriorating, uneven, half meter wide, rain-slick rock “bridge” over a_ **_bottomless chasm_** _._ Of. _Course._

After another sigh, _definitely not a growl_ , and a brief pause, she begins her trek across the damnably unstable looking “bridge”. She’s not _scared_ , per se, she gave up being afraid _years_ ago. But neither is she foolish. Thus her caution in crossing the death trap of an entry-way to the temple. It wouldn’t do to be carelessly carried off the edge of this precarious pathway into oblivion by one of the ceaseless gales, diligently trying their best to carry her away. 

_You never find these kinds of safety hazards in Imperial design,_ she notes. _Except when it’s intentional, at least_ . _Some of those hallways on Nur could be downright treacherous_ …

She must be seriously losing her focus if it takes his _voice_ for her to notice he’s standing in front of her. She adopts an appropriately scathing glare. A glare whose effect is only _somewhat_ ruined by her hair being _plastered_ _to her face_. It occurs to her that she hasn’t actually heard what he said, only that he appears to be waiting for her response. His droid companion is, as ever, perched on his shoulder, and neither of them seem all that bothered by the inclement weather. No matter, if _they_ can handle then so can _she_. 

“Did you find what you were looking for, _little Jedi_?” 

At her question he frowns slightly. She hasn’t actually been paying close attention to him, instead focusing on ignoring the chill running through her body and maintaining her footing. Now that she’s looking at his face, though, something seems slightly… _off_. She can’t quite put a finger on it though, possibly because they feel frozen to the bone at the moment. She represses a shudder and focuses more intently. It’s something in his eyes…

She realizes when she hears her name that he’s talking again. Where her mind is right now she has _no_ idea. 

“...look pretty cold, anyway. We can go our separate ways, you know. Of course my offer is still on the table. If you want it, you know. You don’t have to… I mean, of course you know that… I mean, you know what you want, obviously. But I’m just saying! Maybe think about it? Just give it a shot? If you want? ....Trilla? ....you there? ...are you ok?”

She must have drifted off again. He’s closer to her now, on the slippery and probably _actively_ falling apart rock walkway. Frankly she’s surprised it can hold their collective weight. She’s also impressed, in spite of herself, by his casual stride, evidently heedless of the water surging around his feet. He doesn’t seem to care about the whipping wind either, for that matter. 

He doesn’t even seem to be **_cold_** _, the little bastard._

Belatedly she realizes that he is practically upon her. And he’s _waving_ at her, apparently trying to get her attention. Startled by the movement, her eyes snap up to his. He’s staring at her again, under that mop of red hair moulded to his forehead by the rain, with that same _look_ in his eyes. That _look_ is getting to her, just beyond her ability to identify. It’s on the tip of her tongue before shakes her head. She has _got_ to stop this flighty nonsense. She must _focus_. _She is the_ **_Second Sister_ ** _damn it all._ Her fingers wrap tight around her saber hilt as she glares at him, looking him right in the eyes. Those green eyes that still seem to be trying to communicate something to her…

Both red blades ignite, drawing her focus back to the present. If she were going to let herself notice it, she thinks he almost looks… _saddened_ … by her action. She ignores that, and the _feelings_ she refuses to admit it stirs, in favor of launching herself at him. 

He responds admirably. _More_ than admirably, if she’s being honest. He has continued to improve, and easily bats her blade aside. His counterattack is swift and clean, forcing her to duck, her parry _just_ slow enough to put her in danger of losing her head. She tries to spin with the momentum and slice at his ankles, but he’s already in the air and then he’s behind her. She stumbles on the thin strip of wet rock and tenses, expecting to feel the burn of a lightsaber in her back, but it doesn’t come. She takes a brief, steadying breath, and stands. 

When she turns it is to see him standing there staring at her. His weapon is still in his hand, but he’s not in a guard position. Her eyes roam over his form, taking in his relaxed demeanor, the loose grip on his saber, the rain sizzling to steam on his blade. When her eyes slowly track up to his she finds them fixed on hers. 

_With that same, strange look. She’s getting_ **_tired_ ** _of that look._

She throws herself at him again with renewed fervor. He bats her first overhand swing to the side, stepping back without retaliating. This only serves to fuel her anger and she tries to sweep his legs once again, only for him to spring back away from her and land deftly on the narrow path. She leaps after him again, her blade carving an arc through the air centered on his neck. He tilts back, letting the swing pass him by, before shoving her back with a quick blast of the Force. 

She grits her teeth as she skids across the narrow rock, scattering bits of rock around her. Her teeth are bared when she looks up at him, a fact she only realizes when a _growl_ rips its way through her teeth. Her growl turns into a _howl_ of rage as she leaps into the air, intent on bringing her blade down through his _skull_. She is briefly rewarded by the sight of his eyes widening, that _look_ finally disappearing, before he bursts into action and things take a turn for the spectacularly bad. 

As she aims the point of her blade down towards his face he surprises her, a not _uncommon_ occurrence these days, by launching himself _toward_ her. He diverts her thrust with a twist of his wrist, deviating her thrust away from his body. At the same time he grabs her wrist with his offhand and _yanks_ , using her own momentum to throw her towards the thin strip of rock serving as their battleground. 

Normally, this would be trivial. She would simply catch herself with the aid of the Force and her natural athleticism, roll through the landing, and come up swinging on the other end. Today, however, she is _cold_. She is _tired_. She is _drenched_ and the ground is too. As she reaches out to catch herself her hand _slips_. It’s not a _big_ slip, but then, there isn’t an awful lot of _ground_ upon which to slip. That small difference sees her crashing face first into the narrow walkway as her hand, and the rest of her momentum, carries her off its edge. Dazed and not a little confused at this turn of events, she finds herself watching as the chasm spins away to be replaced by the sky. 

_Must have tumbled over_ , a stray bit of clarity in the spinning world around her. 

Before she can _fall_ further into that maelstrom, and _quite literally_ into the chasm, she supposes, her descent is arrested. Suddenly. And rather forcefully. _More forcefully than necessary_ , she thinks. 

Her head is still spinning, unfortunately, so she’s not quite sure at first why her shoulder is in rather a lot of pain. Her vision blurs and sharpens in waves, though the void below here isn’t really the most interesting scenery she’s ever seen. 

A noise from above her draws her attention. At least she thinks it’s above her, her head is still a little fuzzy. She shakes it in an attempt to clear things up, but only manages to exacerbate the headache she’s slowly becoming aware of. Still she has nothing better to do at the moment, so she turns her gaze skyward. She thinks. 

She’s right, as it happens, and she ends up looking at the clear sky. Or at least, she _would_ be, if there weren’t something in the way. She wrinkles her nose, causing another spike of pain behind her eyes, as a drop of water splashes onto her forehead. Fortunately, or _not_ , depending on one’s perspective, her vision is clearing in tandem with her growing headache. The shape in front of her is gradually resolving into something recognizable. After a few more moments of dripping her vision settles enough to recognize the shape above her as a face. 

A face she _knows_. 

Cal Kestis’ face is _red_ at the moment, which is unusual, and his teeth are bared in a rictus born of exertion, she guesses, but it’s certainly _still_ the face of Cal Kestis. Despite everything, she _certainly_ recognizes that face. The ridiculous mop of garishly red hair, currently dripping water down onto her. The scars running across his cheek and neck, jagged and bold against his pale skin. The vibrant green eyes boring into hers. 

She blinks. When she opens her eyes they have drifted away from his, landing on her wrist. It’s currently lacking most of the sleeve she had been wearing at some undetermined point earlier. It’s _also_ grasped tightly in his hand. He’s starting to shake slightly with effort. She feels a corresponding twinge in her shoulder. At least she’s figured _that_ mystery out. 

What she _can’t_ figure out, however, is rather harder to pin down. He’s holding onto her, that much is clear. That means he has to have grabbed her wrist at some point. The only portion of today’s events she can’t remember clearly is what happened after she tried to break her fall with her face. Following this indisputable train of logic, the only time he could have gotten a hold of her was during the brief window in which she had been falling to her doom. 

_Except why would he do that?_

She has been a thorn in his side, and that is being _charitable at best_ , since the day she killed his friend on Bracca and started hounding him across the galaxy. She has chased him, thrashed him, nearly _killed_ him, and yet… here she stands. Or hangs, rather. By a single thread. 

_By his hand alone._

He shifts and reaches out with his other hand. She glances at it, uncomprehending. 

“Take it. Please.” 

_He has a rather nice voice_ , she notes idly. 

Her head is still far too fuzzy to work through all of this. Whatever _this_ is. Instead she raises her other hand up to reach for his. She looks into his eyes as her fingers wrap around his wrist, his fingers wrapping around her wrist in turn. 

His gaze is steady as he nods. She can almost _hear_ the words. 

_I’ve got you_. 

She believes him. 

He swings her to the side once, twice, three times, building up momentum. On the fourth pendulum he tosses her up and releases one of her wrists, holding fast to the other one just in case. She flails for a moment, unsure of where she is, before her questing hand makes contact with the rough surface of the ground. 

A gasp rushes out, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. Back on solid, _ish_ , ground again. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, calming her nerves and helping clear that fog still clouding her mind. She isn’t even _considering_ trying to unpack everything that’s just happened right now. She will settle for clear vision and functioning limbs, hers are feeling a little sluggish at the moment. 

The sound of boots scraping on the ground catches her attention and she looks up. Kestis is standing again, looking into the distance. Her breath catches in her throat when he turns his gaze on her. She isn’t quite sure _why_. Then he smiles at her. It’s a soft thing, that smile, and she isn’t sure how to understand it. 

_Things to think about_ **_later_**. 

“I’m gonna get out of here… Before any of your “friends” show up. I _really_ don’t have the energy to deal with the Bucket Head Brigade right now. I am _exhausted_.” 

He chuckles to himself. He seems to get lost in thought for a moment, head cocking to the side. Then he comes back to the moment with a quick shake of the head, and focuses on her again. 

“Anyway, umm… I guess I’ll see you the uh… next time you chase me down? I mean, I _assume_ you’re gonna do that… unless you decided to take me up on my offer, maybe? Possibly? No? Ok then, well uh… yeah… umm… one sec.” 

He turns to his little companion and whispers something. The droid responds with a series of _outraged_ beeps, before reluctantly popping a green vial out its back. He turns back to her, holding the little injector, she can see it more clearly now, out to her. 

“It’s a stim. Should help clear your head a little bit. Cause, you know, you uh… hit it pretty hard… on the umm… yeah…” 

He trails off lamely at her blank stare. She looks down at the stim in her hand, then back up to his earnest face. She blinks. 

“Right! Well uh... I’m gonna go! Take care of yourself, Trilla. I guess I’ll um… see you next time?” 

He smiles at her one more time before carefully climbing past her and trotting off back to the cliff’s edge. 

Still feeling rather dazed, she rolls onto her back and looks up at the sky. _The storm is finally past_ , she observes, before closing her eyes to take a well deserved rest. 

_What a stupid dirtball, indeed._


	5. Melting The Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Ilum for reasons that neither Cal or Trilla fully understand. Not that will stop either of them.

The third time Cal touches her she is, initially, unaware of it. Of course, freezing to death might have something to do with that. Or the fever. Really, it could go either way. 

Ilum is _awful_. It’s not her _least_ favorite planet in the galaxy, but it’s certainly up there. It’s _cold_. That’s obvious, of course, but that’s merely the beginning. 

It’s not just the frigid temperatures, though they would be enough on their own. That biting cold is compounded by just how startlingly _dry_ it is, leeching every bit of moisture out of your body. Dry eyes and parched throat? All part of the _charm_ that is Ilum. 

Then there’s the _wind_. It _shrieks_ as it whips around you, sapping whatever warmth you manage to hold in with furs and heaters and whatever else you bring to mitigate its effect. Which is to say nothing of the sheer _force_ with which it hits. Enough to throw a grown adult off their feet, and drag them around on the icy ground. 

Which, of course, brings up the subject of the cold, frozen ground. It’s covered in snow, naturally, but that snow hides the infinitely more insidious threat of slippery patches of ice. They’re _everywhere_ , but don’t cover completely enough to keep you from getting careless, forgetting about them at _just_ the wrong moment. Leading you to fall flat on their ass. 

Not that she’s fallen on her ass, of course. _Trilla Suduri_ is _far_ too graceful for such a thing to occur. 

Besides, the wind is only _really_ a problem outside. And she is no longer outside. 

No, she’s _inside_ the source of her greatest frustration of all: the temple. 

It’s not her first time to the Jedi Temple on Ilum. That was a _long_ time ago, and she is _not_ the same person as that… _child_. Her more recent trips to this place, this damned vestige of a broken system filled with hypocrisy and _lies_ , haven’t done much to change her perspective. 

It’s still the same _hollow_ and _empty_ structure. Those grand and towering statues, all the _pomp_ and _majesty_ , all a crumbling, brittle façade hiding the _decaying heart_ that made up the Old Republic: The Jedi Order. 

There is little more in the universe that she hates than the Jedi. Their _failure_ to protect her, to protect _anyone_ , is what created her. She _hates_ being here. Stuck inside this _ostentatious monument_ to the _pride_ of the Jedi. She might once have marveled at the beauty of this place, the attention to detail in every line of ice and stone, but that time is long gone. Now all she sees are ghosts haunting every shadow and crevice. 

And she’s stuck in here for the moment. 

In hindsight, she should have stayed home. 

She hadn’t _meant_ for this to happen. She _should_ have been more careful. She was always so _precise_ , so _controlled_. And yet, here she sits, leg still broken. 

She hadn’t actually fallen down outside, despite the wind and ice. Her trip to the temple had been easy enough, in spite of the headache she’d been dealing with, loosely following her little padawan as he traversed the barren wasteland of Ilum. He entered the temple and she trotted in after him, still concealed from his awareness by virtue of the shifting snow and his apparently cheerful, permanent obliviousness. He didn’t even notice her smothered coughs, the fool. 

She could feel a smirk pull at the corner of her lips, in spite of her . His presence seemed to light the temple up in a way, making it seem less oppressive. Less empty. Granted it was literally less empty with him, and herself, in it, but that wasn’t what she _felt_. 

He seemed to banish the spectres clinging to the walls, somehow bringing a _warmth_ to the place. _To her_. 

She scowled at that nagging part of her mind that never seemed to shut up, and the warmth building in her chest, and focused on following Cal’s movements through the cavernous halls of ice. The last time she had followed him to this place he was seeking a replacement crystal for his master’s old saber. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was here for this time, so she engaged in some idle speculation as she shadowed his path through the tunnels. At least it served to distract from her growing headache. And her sniffling. 

Perhaps a new sabre? Maybe he was getting tired of the double bladed one his master had used. Or maybe a second sabre? A shoto sabre to use in his off hand instead of splitting his saberstaff? Perhaps, but that wouldn’t really make sense. The shorter blade length couldn’t possibly be worth the hassle of coming to this Force-forsaken wasteland. Especially considering the Empire’s interests, and therefore presence, here. 

It was with her mind engaged in these frivolous distractions that she found herself making a grave mistake. The ground seemed solid enough, sure, but appearances were obviously deceiving in this instance. 

Her shocked cry was far from dignified, she hoped it was swallowed by the sound of the ice cracking beneath her feet. Unfortunately for her, such considerations were the least of her worries. In spite of the literal _tons_ of ice surrounding her, there was still a great deal of liquid water on this confounding planet. Water that she now found herself falling toward. 

Reaching desperately for anything to halt her rapid descent, her hand caught a bit of rock or ice, she wasn’t sure which, and slammed her into the wall. Her breath rushed out in a gasp with the impact, stars flashing before her eyes. The ringing in her ears was drowning out all other sounds, otherwise she would have noticed the cracking sounds in front of her. Unfortunately, in her rattled state, she missed it. 

Her impact with the wall sent cracks rippling out, and it was only a moment before that ice _too_ splintered and fell away, this time forward into a small tunnel. 

Things were not going very well. 

They took a turn for the worse as she landed in this new passage. 

Accompanying her into this gently sloping tunnel were the chunks of ice that she had broken through. They were rather large and, unfortunately for her, rolling down the tunnel all around her. At some point in her graceless tumbling she felt something _smash_ her leg against something else. She wasn’t entirely sure _what_ exactly broke, but _something_ certainly did. That would have to be dealt with later, though. As she continued her clumsy roll down to the depths of the temple’s catacomb-like underlevels, a piece of ice found its way to her head and the lights went out. 

Her memory upon waking is hazy, given the probable concussion she has received, and consists mainly of flashes and sensations. Rolling down the tunnel. _Not_ rolling down the tunnel anymore. Pressure on her legs and arms, there and then gone. 

Fever, chills. A blanket. _Warmth_. 

And the occasional voice. 

Which is why she’s fairly certain that Cal Kestis is responsible for her current situation. Namely lying comfortably on a small pillow, covered with another one of his _ridiculous_ ponchos, next to a small heater. She can’t recall having packed a heater, nor is she in the habit of wearing ponchos, so those elements are hard to explain without his intervention. 

Then there’s the _awfully_ large pile of very heavy looking chunks of ice off to the side of the small chamber she’s stuck in. She doubts very seriously that, following her delightful trip down the hidden tunnel to her current location, that she would have ended clear of the rubble that had been literally on top of her during her descent. Especially considering her last memory of that trip was being smashed in the head by one of those sizable hunks of ice, rendering her rather incapable of doing much more than being crushed. 

She represses a shudder, which threatens to turn into a cough, at the thought. 

Of course, the _greatest_ piece of evidence for Cal’s involvement in her current predicament is his smiling face staring at her. She can’t be certain at the moment, she has a _pounding_ headache and the edges of her vision are blurry, but he _seems_ pleased to see her. Which is strange for a number of reasons that she doesn’t quite have the bandwidth to sort out at the moment. 

As a matter of fact, she doesn’t seem to have the headspace for much of _anything_ at the moment. The ceaseless hammering in her head is combining with the scratching in her throat that she’s been ignoring, compounding the chills she’s _also_ been ignoring. On top of all of _that_ , there’s a new _stabbing_ pain radiating up from her leg, adding a little touch of spice to the overall melange already brewing. 

Clearly she should have just listened to her body before she ever left. But she couldn’t leave Cal for just _anyone_ to capture. That right is reserved for _her_ and _her alone_. 

She opens her eyes, not having noticed them close in the first place, to see him hovering slightly closer with a cup of something steaming in his hands. 

“Hey, uh… sorry… I hope I didn’t wake you, but I thought maybe you’d um… like some… tea…” 

He trails off lamely, looking over her body before quickly turning his attention back to her face. It seems he’s been a busy little padawan, indeed. She leans her head up a touch to look at her body herself, too tired to really care when he darts over to help her. She notes with some approval the various bandages applied to her arms and legs, as well as the acceptable field dressing on her left leg. She _knew_ she felt something break, and it seems Cal figured that out as well. That doesn’t bode particularly well for her, but she’ll deal with that later. 

“I knew you were there, you know.” 

His voice pulls her back from these increasingly common daydreams. It’s softer than she’s used to. 

“I could feel you following me from the moment you touched down. Your presence is… _potent_ , to say the least.” A soft chuckle and a pause. “I honestly didn’t expect you here so soon. I figured I’d have at least a day or two before you showed up, but that’s on me I guess. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you, huh?” 

He turns his eyes from the small heater to look at her, she hadn’t even noticed him leaving her side, and smiles. He holds her gaze for a moment before turning back to the small pot of tea he’s brewing. 

_Of course he has tea, no Jedi would be caught dead without it_. _Not even on this frozen, Force-forsaken heap._

He tends to the tea for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. It’s less awkward than she’d imagined it would be. She finds her eyes closing, feeling safe and… _content_. It’s odd, but not unwelcome. _Cozy_. 

She is mildly surprised to find herself waking up again. Not that she expected to be killed in her sleep or anything, rather she hadn’t expected to fall asleep in the first place. As her eyes open though, she can’t deny feeling better than the last time they opened. The headache is still there, of course, but the ache is dull by comparison to what it was, and the throbbing in her leg is, if not gone, at least manageable. 

When she finally turns her towards Kestis she finds him in the same position he was when she fell asleep, hunched over the heater and his teapot. She blinks a few times, attempting to clear some of the sleep from her eyes and, hopefully, some of the fog from her brain. Shaking her head, she has learned, is not worth the spectacular pounding it causes. 

Her vision resolves to the image of Cal Kestis once again holding out a steaming mug. His smile is, as usual, small. It’s striking, the way his features seem to light up when he looks at her. She’s not used to that, won’t _ever_ be used to that. Still, she takes the tea from his hands, lets the warmth of her first sip flow through her veins. 

“You’re looking better today. Breathing sounds cleaner. Which I could hear, by the way. You know… when you were following me? You were uh.. sniffling and um... coughing… uh… yeah….”

She must be staring, otherwise she imagines he would continue talking until the inevitable heat death of the universe. And he might not even stop _then_. His head whips back to face her when she snorts, eyes slightly wide before they crinkle at the edges. She hides her smirk behind another sip of tea, though it doesn’t go away. 

“I wasn’t sure how long I would need to wait, so we have enough supplies to last out the storm. After that I can get you back to the entrance before I take my leave the uh, _usual_ way. Ya know, quickly.” 

The chuckle sounds a touch forced. He’s looking away as he talks, not focusing on anything in particular. She gets a vague sense of something from him… yearning, perhaps. For what she can’t be sure, though she has an idea. She refuses to think about it. Not now. Not _here_. She opts instead to enjoy the companionable silence that seems to crop up around him. 

She must have been weaker than she thought since she is _once again_ waking up, despite not being aware of falling asleep. She is of a mind to blame this on Kestis somehow, but she can’t quite think of a way to spin that at the moment. Really, she should have paid more attention to how she had been feeling before she left. It’s her own damn fault. She sighs. 

_At least that doesn’t hurt to do anymore_. 

She finds another cup of tea waiting for her when she opens her eyes. It sits, along with a ration bar, next to the small heater that has not stopped running since she first awoke here. She also sees a pack that she assumes must belong to her erstwhile companion. But she doesn’t see Cal. 

That gives her pause. 

She sits up fully for the first time since her trip down the tunnel and peers around the cramped, yet cozy, little alcove. It’s not as small as she initially thought, though not much larger than a bedroom, perhaps a three meter diameter circle. 

That leaves little for Cal to be hiding behind, and yet….

Her gaze tracks around the available space a second, then a third time, before finally settling on a shadow that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the shadows. She stares intently as the slightly darker shadow resolves itself into a crack in the ice wall. After a few more moments a head pops out, as if drawn by her glare. 

His eyebrows shoot to his forehead as he puts his hands up. 

“Whoa, whoa! No need to look at me like that. Just doing some scouting.. you know? Trying to find the way out?” 

She stares at him for a moment, with that goofy smile on his face and his hands still up, before glancing down at the tea and then back up at him. She watches him as he watches her pick up the cup and take a genteel sip, pinky out and all. He blushes. She smirks, hiding it behind the cup. She's not entirely sure why that makes her smile, but it does. She clears her throat _._

"And? Did you _find_ anything?" 

The first words she's spoken aloud since arriving on this miserable rock, dripping with sarcasm, appear to have momentarily short circuited his brain. He stares blankly at her for a moment, before blinking and entering the "room" fully. He's beaming at her now, his smile is practically incandescent, his entire bearing practically bursting with the unadulterated joy of exploration. He can seem so simple, at times, able to live in the moment and just _be_. Perhaps he truly is. Perhaps not. She'll contemplate that later, he's speaking again and practically _bursting_ with excitement. 

"I've found _loads_ of stuff! It's so _beautiful_ here! There are these rivers and lakes and the way they _sparkle_ is just amazing! And then there are the stalactites and the stalagmites and there are places where they're practically touching they're so close! And yet there's just this _little bit_ of space in between them and it's so _beautiful_. Of course that's not even _mentioning_ the kyber and the way it just seems to light the whole place up and... uh... sparkles... umm.... what?" 

He trails off, a common occurrence where she's involved, and blushes again. Hiding her growing smirk behind the cup of tea again she closes her eyes and sighs, perhaps a touch more... _dramatically_ , than she ordinarily would. 

"I _meant_ did you find a _way out_." 

He falters for a second, and his blush deepens when he hears her muttered " _ridiculous boy_ ", before he rallies and nods vigorously. She nearly chuckles before catching herself and settling into a suitably _stoic_ expression. 

"As a matter of fact I have! It's not _too_ far from where we are, actually. It's just... uh... a little... vertical? I don't... I mean um... can you...? Will you um... be able to uh... climb?" 

That burst of enthusiasm tapers off again as his gaze falls to her leg. Her eyes follow and she can feel her lips turn down into a grimace. The pain is mostly tolerable, a distant throbbing, but she's not fool enough to believe that will remain true if she tries to _walk_ on it, let alone _climb_. That presents a rather sizeable difficulty between her and escape. She could, theoretically, rely on the Force and just _one_ leg, but that sounds like a recipe for disaster rather than salvation. 

Unfortunately it seems she has gotten herself into _quite_ the situation this time. She never had this problem before _he_ showed up, but now? Everything falls apart the _moment_ he gets involved. And now she's stuck here _with_ him. At least, until he decides to _leave_ her here. Alone. 

Her mood has soured considerably. Her thoughts are spiraling downward more quickly than they should, really. That's something else for her to consider at some point. Her emotional state hasn't fluctuated this wildly since before... she refuses to think about it. Instead, she focuses on her growing anger at her weakness, followed closely by the never far distant despair. 

At least now she's on familiar ground. 

And something _equally_ familiar apparently, rather _distressingly_ so, is getting lost in her own thoughts. So much so that she hasn't noticed Cal busily cleaning up their little "camp" if it can be called that. She isn't even aware of _him_ until he takes the long since cold cup of tea from her hands, dumping its contents off to the side before stowing in his pack again. 

Broken from her reverie she turns her eyes up to his, one brow quirking up. 

He stares for a moment, a haze of nervousness around him, before coming to a decision. He nods to himself, stows the remainder of the equipment into his pack, and turns to face her. Shouldering the pack, he walks right up to her and kneels. 

She shrinks back a hair, unsure of what he's thinking. She's gearing up to ask him what the _hell_ he thinks he's doing. 

And then he scoops her up. One arm under her knees, one behind her back. 

_Like a child_. 

She sputters. She can't find the words to express the sheer _enormity_ of her _indignation_. Never before has she been so completely and utterly _disrespected_. The _nerve_. The _insolence_! The _sheer, unbridled,_ **audacity**! 

" _What are yo-_ "

"Sorry about this, but, well, this is the only way to get you outta here." 

Her outrage is cut short by his calm, almost apologetic, tone. He's careful not to jolt her as he holds her close to his chest, even more conscious of her leg than she is. He's even managed to wrap his poncho arorund her, keeping her warmer than she would have otherwise thought. 

Apparently those ridiculous things serve a purpose after all. 

She isn't, strictly speaking, comfortable. There are unfortunate moments where Cal must jump a small gap, or skip across the surface of a partially frozen lake. Occasionally he'll even slip on the icy ground, though he never once drops her. Still, each bump and lurch leaves her keenly aware of each of her bumps and bruises. And the broken leg most of all. 

Despite that, she finds herself feelings strangely... pleasant. Something about the way he holds her, snug against his chest, her head resting gently in the crook of his neck. She is calm. Relaxed. _At peace_. It's an odd sensation, and she's not entirely sure how she feels about it. Just another in a long list of things to sort out at some nebulous point in the future when she has the energy. 

But that time is not now. For now, she is content to ignore all the whispering voices telling her that this is somehow wrong, and instead curl herself tighter into his arms. She allows her eyes to drift closed, the gentle rhythm of Cal's breathing and the warmth of his body soothing in a way she can't quite describe. 

She doesn't fall asleep this time, but neither is she fully present for their trip to the entrance of the temple. She's only vaguely aware of the colossal statues of long dead Jedi staring at her as Cal carries her across the threshold into the atrium wherein they hold their eternal vigil. 

The chill of the outside world sneaks in and around those parts of her not wrapped in the poncho she has come to quite like, rousing her from her dozing. Cal sets her comfortably onto the floor in the lee of one of the statues, taking care to help her stretch her injured leg out, and then tuck the poncho around her. 

She must be more out of it than she thought, since she doesn't move to stop him. When she looks up to his face he smiles at her. It's not the same as the dazzlingly bright, childishly excited smile from earlier. Nor is it the cocky, self-assured grin that she's seen during their variously on _encounters_ across the galaxy. This one is reminiscent of the quiet, almost _timid_ smiles she's seen when he's alone with his droid companion. Or when he thinks she isn't paying attention. 

It's something truly special, she thinks, the way it transforms him. Not just his face, which softens into something almost boyish, and awfully charming. But it goes further than that. His whole person seems to blossom into something sweet, something pure. That smile is trained on her, and she gets the feeling that this is the core of his person. More than anything else, more than the bravery, the juvenile brashness, the cleverness, and even the giddy excietment at exploring ancient tombs, this gentle kindness is what makes Cal Kestis who he is. When he speaks, that kindness suffuses every word. 

"So uh... I have to um... go... now... You should be able to get someone to pick you up from here, right? I mean... your people are uh... pretty all over the place, heh. I had a hell of a time weaving around them the first time... definitely not fun... Anyways, I think I got what I needed from here for now, so I um... I guess I'll uh... be going... now. Take care of yourself, Trilla." 

His eyes wrinkle at the corners as his smile widens, before he turns and exits the temple. She watches him go, still fairly sleepy, and resolves to take some time to herself before taking any further action. 

After a suitable amount of time has passed, Trilla fishes her comm unit out of one of her pouches. She is still tired, and rather sore, but calmer. She finds a curious sense of tranquility has stolen over her. She'll explore this in more depth later, _always later_ , when she has the energy. For now, she is content to simply enjoy this feeling. 

Her tranquility isn't _shattered_ , per se, but it is certainly _impacted_ , and perhaps _stretched_ to its limits. It happens as she is putting her comm back in her belt pouch. She feels something stuck in her belt. It's a little bump, likely a small rock that she picked up during her trip down the tunnel. Adjusting her position to allow her to fish the thing out from the small of her back is a bit of a hassle, her leg _is_ still broken, after all, but eventually she manages to get a hold of it. 

She freezes the moment her fingers make contact, an unspent breath caught in her throat. She closes her eyes and gulps back a shudder. She still trembles as she exhales. With a concerted effort, she closes her fingers around the slightly sharp stone, and brings her hand to her chest. 

She opens her eyes looks down at her tightly clenched fist, still hidden by Cal's poncho, and takes a steadying breath. Steeling herself, she opens her hand and peers into the darkness. 

Except it's not as dark as it should be. 

A single point of light shiness up at her. 

A kyber crystal. 


End file.
